Movement
by cssypet
Summary: She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: Goodbye My Almost Lover- A Fine Frenzy**

**.adagio.**

Is it possible to break noise?

She contemplates her ballet shoes- collecting dust in the corner, so long since she'd danced. A month. But her hiatus is over now. She can dance again- can move again. Can be free. Can let herself go. Can forget.

She knows, from the scars decorating her forearms, how hard it is to forget. It's almost impossible. But she can. She will. She will move onward. She will dance.

To break noise would be to silence it.

Like _he'd_ said. To break it is to ruin and shatter a soul.

Can you really just forget?

Yes. No. Memories are everlasting, forever there in your brain. Even if you forget that memory, your brain won't. And it's simply waiting for a moment to bring it back up again. But if you love it-with all your soul- can you just really forget it? No. She shouldn't think so. Yes and no. Maybe.

It's impossible to forget those you love. But slowly, **slowly**, you can remember them.

**.allegro.**

"Ariadne!"

In all glaring honesty, Ariadne's never liked Mrs. Vienna- she, in Ariadne's opinion, is a woman who lost all creativity. Pencil thin, face a strange yellow color and hands wrinkly. She posesses a strength that should be unheard of in those stick-like arms. She click-clacks across the ballet studio and comes to a halt in front of Ariadne. Her high-heels are glaringly tall.

"Hello," she says. There's a silence. Behind Mrs. Vienna, Ariadne can see Sastiana starting her stretches. They're in the same advanced class. Sastiana waves at her. She had missed Sassy. The black girl had a talent, along with an attitude, that matched no other.

"You've missed a lot of class," is what Ariadne is expecting to hear.

"We've started arabesque," is another thing that she's expecting to hear.

But no. Not even close. In fact, so far out of the ball park that Ariadne takes a step back.

"Welcome back," Mrs. Vienna says stiffly. Then her face cracks into what Ariadne assumes is a smile. She smiles back, caught unawares.

Then it's back to buisness.

"Start your stretching. Sastiana is already ahead of you."

**.avant.**

Move. Turn. Breathe. **Become**. Let go.** Feel**.

This is dance.

She and Sastiana mimic each other- twist and turn in front of the mirror. The piano plinks and Mrs. Vienna misses a note. "Okay," she says briskly. "That's enough for today." She's blushing at her mistake.

Enough? (_No_.) There is never a limit to dance.

It sets you free. Pushes you from confinment. And the moment that music stops, you're back in that cage that everyone can't see. Invisible to them, the cage that is life. Ariadne says her good-byes to Sassy and Mrs. Vienna, and starts her walk home.

It's a thirty-minute walk. But she would rather walk then accept a ride from her father. Or her mother. They would rather kill her or themselves then allow her to dance. To be free is a crime. To love is a crime. Sometimes Araidne wonders how they are married to each other.

Study.

Study.

Their motto.

Ariadne knows her way around the city, but lost in her thoughts and the darkness, she quickly finds herself in a neighborhood she hadn't ever encountered before. NYC is a big place, and she's been walking for forty minutes before she realizes she is lost.

She mutters a curse to herself and pulls out her map from her bag.

It doesn't take long until she sees that she can't see anything in the utter and complete darkness.

She curses again and stuffs it back into her bag. She glances around. She notices someone walking down a alleyway. She fingers the pepper spray in her pocket and walks oward the figure.

"Excuse me- excuse me, sir- do you..would you know where 22nd street is?"

The man turns, and she gets a glimpse of dark eyes and an impeccable suit. _He looks lovely_, she thinks. B_eautiful and smart. _

"Yes," he says. "Just turn down that way-" he points to the right, "and continue walking until you see a restuarant."

She knows what restaurant he's talking about- Rocco's. She can find her way from there.

"Thank you," she says, and takes off running.

**.aplomb.**

It is entirely possible to break noise.

Arthur watches the figure run out of sight.

She'd need dreams. He could see it in her eyes. The rising panic, stifling her voice and shoving at her mind. He'd been like that. She'd come to crave dreams like the drug thay are. And soon-so soon- she wouldn't be able to let them go.

**.assemble.**

She does dream. Not everyday. When they come, fleeting as they are, she does welcome them. Dreams are like dancing- an escape. She craves escape. Escape from the darkness, escape from her heart and soul, escape from the death that still has her trembling.

She is a murderer.

Escape. She'd been providing escape-_simply_- a helping hand. She'd help him escape into the darkness that isn't darkness.

Tonight she dreams.

She dreams about the dark-eyed man, she dreams about dreams, she dreams about dance, she dreams about death. She dreams about cages.

She wonders if she can ever escape.

**A/N: So this fic is a fic unlike any other I've ever done- so keep an eyes out for the next chapter. Review! Review!**

**-Cass **


	2. Chapter 2

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: Kiss the Rain- Yiruma**

**.balance.**

Arthur isn't the bad guy.

No- he's a buisness man. To stop people from turning to drugs and instead providing them _dreams_- creativity, straight from the mind. And he's very good at his job. He and Cobb both.

Yes-dreams become addicting, almost as bad as drugs. Arthur knows from experience.

And he knows when one is craving escape in the best and longest time possible, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. She won't be able to escape for long. And then he'd be there, ready to help her.

**.barre.**

Ariadne and Sassy sit in their favorite cafe- a morning ritual- and sip lattes. NYC is already alive and bustling.

Cages. All Ariadne can think about is cages.

**.brise.**

Mistakes.

She seems to be making those a lot.

For now she can't dance.

Someone- a family _friend_, her father had said- had told Ariadne's parents that Ariadne had been dancing, sneaking out behind their backs. And then provided proof.

She can't escape. Can't dance. Forever locked in a cage, screaming and wailing and kicking at the darkness folding her in it's fingers- but she is trapped. Escape is only a dream now. A lovely, precious dream. Now the nightmares and the dark and the cages are bound to descend onto her now.

No escape.

Only dark and cages.

Forever dark and cages.

She will be lost.

**.bouree.**

It occurs when she's walking home.

She starts to cry.

And out comes the man.

She starts, jerking backward. There- so suddenly there- and her breath is snatched away at the sight of him.

Damn, but he is beautiful.

"Miss?"

She blinks at him. Her pepper spray is in her bag. She curls her fingers around it.

"May I make a buisness propostion?"

She wonders- wonders- is this like when they give out flyers on the street? She clears her throat. "What do you mean?"

If Sastiana were here, she would've been running already.

She narrows her eyes. "You're not going to sell me drugs, are you?"

He laughs. "No, no, nothing like that. Let me show you."

And he takes off walking, without looking back, as if he knows that Ariadne will follow, no questions asked. She does. No questions asked.

In a small, secluded warehouse that Ariadne had never even noticed before, he introduces her to another man- Dominic Cobb. "Call me Dom," he says, shaking her hand.

"What we do is show people the art of dreaming. We've had twenty-four clients. We show them dreams."

Dreams. A form of escape. Ariadne swallows.

"How- on cue? Whenever you want? But how?"

"The PASIV." He shows her a machine, with tubes in it, and a large button. "Insert a needle into your wrist, and you start to dream. But for security purposes, one of us has to be in the dream with you. At all times."

"How much?"

He glances at her, startled. She keeps her gaze on the PASIV, unwavering.

"Twenty per hour. And there's a starting fee..."

She pulls out forty dollars from her wallet. She only has ten dollars left for the week. But escape is alluring...

**.chasse.**

Dreaming is beautiful.

A glorious dream- of her grandmother's summer home in London.

Arthur stays far away and watches her take it all in. He knows how she feels-

**-italllookssoreal-**

**amazing.**

**wonderful.**

She'll be back, he thinks. He's never seen anyone with such a potential for addiction as she.

Except for himself and Cobb, of course.

**A/N: Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: Dreams- Yiruma**

**.coupe.**

Escape is addiction.

Arthur knows- once being like Ariadne. Once. The difference is, Cobb found him.

Dreaning is as addicting as drugs. No, maybe worse. Because the lure isn't just feeling- it's the memories you can visit. You don't forget memories. The moment you're cut off from them-

it's **want need have-**

It's a business. You don't get your memories attached. Only something's different with Ariadne.

Or so he tells himself.

**.couru.**

Coffee and eggs with Sassy at their local cafe. It's a ritual for them, cultivated since 5th grade and having already been in the same ballet class for a year. Ariadne orders her usual (not even looking at her menu) and watches as Sassy walks in.

Sassy's tall, taller then Ariadne, with large, doe like eyes. She acts like she owns the place, smiling at everyone and batting her eyelashes.

**it's beautiful to be hurt**

Sassy sits down and flips through a menu. She finally peeks at Ariadne over the top of it. "What's eating you?" she asks jokingly. Ariadne shrugs. "No more dancing."

Sassy drops her mouth open for dramatic effect and covers her mouth. At once, everyone in the cafe stops talking and looks over to them.

"SHUT UP," she says loudly.

"Yes."

"But-but- that's CRIMINAL."

"I know. Lower your voice." 

Sassy leans forward, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Who told them?" she asks, grasping Ariadne's wrist.

"I don't know."

Does it even matter? No dancing= no good addiction.

Is there even such a thing?

**dreaming,** her mind whispers. Purrs, more like. Quiet and seductive in her ear. **dream and dream and dream of escape. no more cages.**

In any case, Ariadne knows where she's going to go right after eating breakfast.

**.croise.**

"Explain," is the first thing she says when she's in the warehouse. She shrugs off her jacket and drops it to the floor, kicking it away.

Cobb doesn't look up from his work.

"Hello," says Arthur. He reminds her of those old Southern gentlemen. It makes her want to gag. "Explain," she says again, slightly louder. "Explain every thing. How you guys have the machine, how it works, how two people can go in at once, who made it..."

Cobb whistles. At his desk, he's doing nothing but flip thorugh giant manila folders.

"That's a lot of questions," he states.

Ariadne doesn't look away from Arthur. His gaze doesn't waver from her face, either.

Stubborn. Like her.

Ari's respect grows.

Not much. Like, a half a foot or so.

"Care to come in a dream with me?" he asks.

She lays down in the lawn chair next to him, watching him slide in the needle. She notices his watch. It's not that big.

Just the size of her head.

What kind of money does **dreaming **make?

She puts in her own needle, leans back, and sighs as the darkness flows over her.

She doesn't notice Arthur's gaze flicker to her right before he goes under, too.

**.echappe.**

They're in a museum.

A man is talking to her. Confused, she decides to listen.

"The wife," the man is saying. "It's all the wife's fault, told me she booked the tickets for tommorow, so now I'm..."

Arthur walks up just then and holds out his hand. "May I borrow her for a minute?" he asks the man, who shrugs. Ariadne ignores his hand and instead stands up on her own.

He smiles.

"How...what?"

"This is my dream," Arthur says briefly. She glares, so he elaborates.

"This is my dream. If, by chance, I wanted to dream of a museum-

**geek**, Ariadne thinks. But soon after comes the thought of **escape**. She glances at him to find him smiling at her.

"So you're contolling this?"

"Yes."

"Then explain **them**." Ariadne gestures to the people. Arthur looks at the man who had been talking to Ariadne before. "Those are projections. I control the setting. I bring you into the dream, and your subconcious produces them."

There's a hint of something in his voice that Ariadne can't name. Anger? Regret?

"So who invented the PASIV? Why?"

She's asking a lot of questions, and she can tell Arthur doesn't care. A teacher at heart.

"Architects invented it- to build. To test out their creations."

Ariadne considers briefly. Then: "That's cool."

Arthur looks at her, askance. "It's...fascinating. There's nothing quite like it."

Ariadne twists his words around in her head. Poetry. That's what it is.

Geek.

Or something else.

Personally, Ariadne finds dreaming more then just...fascinating. It's **beautiful**, it's an **art**, it's **precious**, and it's an **escape.**

Escape is all she needs. Into the darkness that isn't darkness, just for a little while. And until she can dance again, then she'll dream. Dream until there are no more cages.

There will be no more cages.

Because cages can break.

**.ecarte.**

_Imagine._

The young Ariadne does so, squeezing her eyes shut and her hands curled into fists.

_Now, Imagine me._

**imagine.**

She can do that. She smiles at what she's imagining- Robert with a huge ice cream cone and sharing it with her.

_How do you think you imagine?_

_Well, _Ariadne had said, ever the student, _you think of pretty things. You let your mind run away from you. _She giggles. _Everyone's mind runs away from Mrs. Hadeart_, she said. _Her class is boring._

And that's Ariadne's first encounter with escape, and cages, and the utter beauty of imagination.

Like she's said.

You let your mind run away from you.

**.eleve.**

Sassy knew escape.

She knew the worst kind, the kind that you grab onto and won't let go of. The dangerous kind. The kind that can get you killed.

Escape through dance is safe.

Escape through dreams is not so safe.

"There are people who've thought that real life is a dream. They killed themselves," Arthur had said.

He looked her in the eye.

"They didn't wake up."

Ariadne found a few things wrong with this.

"Wait. So how do you know when you're awake and when you're not."

Arthur holds out his hand. In it is a small red die.

She didn't get it.

"This is a totem. It can help you see if you're in a dream or not. See, only you know this specific weight and feel of this particular die. You rig it so that it will always come out the same, one way or another. If you're in a dream, it won't happen. The outcome will be different. Mine is a loaded die."

She holds out her hand. Arthur pulls back and puts it in his pocket.

"I can't let anyone else see the die. That would be the easiest way for them to tamper with it and make you lose your grasp on reality. That would defeat the purpose."

"Oh."

"Try making your own," he had suggested.

"Okay."

**.efface.**

She throws her shoes in the corner of her room and promises not to look at them. Earlier, she had gone to see Mrs. Vienna and tell her that she was canceling her lessons.

"WHY?" she had demanded.

"I'm not allowed."

"But you are one of the most talented dancers I've ever had! A prodigy! You could've become a ballerina!"

**Could've.** To mean could have. As in, what you tried to get, but it danced out of your reach and moved away. A chance. Ariadne missed hers.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"But surely they can reconsider!"

"I don't think it's up for considering. It's been nice. Sorry," she says again.

As she walks home, she thinks it.

**Sorry.**

**A/N: Sorry if the chapter was a little (or a lot) confusing, but it was meant to be that way to show how Ariadne is. Muddled, confused. Reveiw!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy- the Nutcracker**

**.cabriole.**

"She's fuggin' ungrateful."

Ariadne watches, somewhat amused, as her extremely drunk parents curse her out. She doesn't want to smile- they _are _drunk- but it's difficult. She settles for a slight smirk. What does it matter? To them, she's a part of the stark white walls. If she spoke, they'd probably have a heart attack.

Ariadne debates getting up- which requires _moving_, a source of _movement_- and simply sitting there and listening to her parents hate on her.

Or just going to her bedroom adorned with dancing shoes.

She sighs.

Her mom twitches. Her glass doesn't even move, she's clutching it so tightly. Her face drains of color.

"She was _dancing_," she whispers dramatically. "_DANCING."_

Ariadne curls her fingers around the arm of her chair and tenses. Slowly, her knuckles turn white.

And she waits.

"I couldn't dance," her mother says. "And it's like she's throwing back in my face."

Ariadne doesn't breathe. Doesn't move. Doesn't see.

All she can do is hear. Her mother takes a drag out of her glass, eyes large and glassy with tears.

"It just hurts," she whimpers.

"It's all right," her father comforts. It's nice to see that he can comfort one person. At least.

**that's why she doesn't want you dancing,** her brain whispers poisonously. **because she can't.**

**.coda.**

It's beautiful.

Arthur watches as Ariadne ties the ribbons on her dancing shoes, the way she practically caresses them.

She knows her dance, her escape, her addiction. She tries to hide it, but it's there. When she talks. When she looks at you. When she blinks.

When she smiles.

When she dances.

It's all weighted down, hung there by her addiction, grabbing onto her and pulling her quite far away- pushing at her. Demanding attention.

Yes, he knows how to read the signs. It's extremely easy when you've experienced it yourself.

Shouldn't it?

She starts to dance.

He walks out.

No matter what, he doesn't watch other people during their '_escape_'.

**.etcarte.**

It's beautiful.

The dust on the stage, the hot lights, the smell of anticiaption, the smell of moving.

Beautiful.

Her new shoes- the new shoes are always the best, breaking them in, smiling through the pain- and she feels like frosted ice is on her skin.

Forever,

**.en dehors.**

It occurs (like in most stories) when Sassy's walking from the cafe.

"Sassy?"

She whirls around, sucks in a deep breath, the lets it out.

"You."

With no other word, she continues walking down the street. But her mind is swirling with questions. **How when why now**?

"Sassy-"

"Fuck off."

She wants to jump into his arms, but she can't forget. He _left. _ Not a warning. And she could understand that. Dreams are addicting. But three years...no call? No emails? No texts? Not even a "_hey I'm alive kk bye"_? She's not needy in any way- but _contact? _How was she to know that he was okay after all that?

"I'm sorry," he shouts at her in the bustle of the street. I can't!"

"Try forgettin' me," she snaps at him. "It'll be easier."

"I can't," he reapeats. "Whatever," she says. In the next moment, she's flagged a taxi and she's gone. Just like that. Like she was never there in Eames's life at all.

**.epaulement.**

**Cages. **

As soon as Ariadne enters her house- she knows something's wrong. The house is too dark, too silent, too still.

Where is her mother?

"Ma?" she calls, dropping her bag on the floor and going into the kitchen. There's silence.

She goes up the stairs, opens the door to her mother's room, and shrieks. She dials 9-1-1 in a millisecond, her fingers trembling and tears choking her voice.

She doesn't understand.

**A/N: Cliffhanger, of epic size: review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: **

**.fondu.**

Her mother's body is curled into unnatural shapes and curves, her eyes fluttering as she stares up at Ariadne. "Ma!" Ari shouts. Her voice sounds too quiet in the awning of silence here. It sounds-_feels_-lost. She drops to her knees next to her mother. "What happened?"

"Mmmm," her mother murmurs. She stares at the chipped ceiling, past Ariadne. She draws in a deep breath.

And closes her eyes.

"NO! No!" Ariadne screams. The whine of an ambulance draws closer to her house, and she scrambles down the stairs, phone still in hand. She yanks the door open and directs the police to her mother's room. Where she lies, broken and bloody. That thing up there isn't her mother. It's somthing different.

Ariadne doesn't cry until the ambulance is pulling out of her driveway and zooming down the street.

A few minutes she finds herself throwing on her jacket and running out into the street. Not after the ambulance, but in a different direction.

The warehouse lights are on, and Ariadne is about to pull open the door when she hears voices.

Not just Arthur's voice...a girl's voice.

Ariadne pulls the heavy door open _just a crack _and peers inside. She can just make out Arthur and another girl. They're close to each other, and Ariadne can make out the sound of giggling. "_Ma cherie," _Arthur says. More giggling, and a long string of words in French.

Ariadne sucks in a deep breath. Then she walks over to Sassy's apartment.

"My mom's in the hospital," is the first thing she says to her. Sassy envelopes her in a hug. "Well," she says after hearing the whole story. Ariadne is nursing a cup of hot chocolate. "Do you know who did it? And where the fuck was your dad?"

Ariadne considers it. "I don't know," she says thoughtfully. "I'd say he was at work, but today is Tuesday. He's off today."

Sassy nods. Then chokes on her chocolate."Listen, there's something I need to tell you," she says shortly. "And it is..." Ariadne says.

The doorbell rings.

"I'll get that," Sassy says.

**.fouette.**

The next day Ariadne comes at one, as agreed, and settles into dreaming.

She dreams of her mother, the body- the scream, dialing nine one one, over and over, tormenting herself this _ one last time _, until she can feel the cages hemming her in and she cannot breathe, the cage is so tight on her.

Then Arthur's hand, on her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he hisses into her ear. She doesn't move- continues watching herself dialing nine one one.

"Stop."

Ariadne shakes her head, not listening. She absently starts to bite her nails, then catches herself and lowers her hand to her side.

"Stop," Arthur repeats, louder.

"No,"she bites back, louder then he. "_You_ stop. I need this."

She glares at him, and the muscle in his jaw jumps and twitches. At a loss for words.

"Stand in front of me." Apperantly not.

"Don't try anything funny," she warns him. She moves, then listens to him, as if she can hear him try anything funny.

Just a small rustle and a click. She glances behind her, curious.

"Wha-" she starts to say. Then she sees the barrell of a gun and the steady determination in his eyes. Loses it. She loses it like she's never had it in the first place.

A bang. Silence. The drip, drip, drip, of something on the floor, and darkness. Disbeilef makes her see red spots in her vision.

And she finds herself awake. In a lawn chair.

"Shit,"she screeches.

Arthur's at her side already, removing the needle from her wrist. As soon as she can move without ripping out her veins, she skitters away from Arthur so fast it's not even funny.

"Ariadne, look-"he starts.

"You shot me!" she yells, voice growing louder with every word. "What the hell? What the hell? Are you-_sane? _Do you know what could've happened?"

"Ariadne,"he says in a low voice.

"No. No. Don't try that shit on me. Fuck, Arthur!" She stands and starts to pace the warehouse, clutching her head. "Ugh!"

"I'll tell you everything. Everything. Just...sit down."

Ariadne shoots him a glare and perches on the lawn chair, as far away from him as possible.

"Everything?"she asks after a moment.

"Everything."

"Even..."she cannot believe she is doing this,"the lady who was here last night?"

Arthur's eyes snap to hers. "What lady?"

**.glissade.**

"I came here last night, and I heard somone before I opened the door."

Arthur doesn't blush. Instead he almost becomes...icy, the kind of frost at makes your fingers blue and with a certain kind of sharp snap. Angry icy, in Arthur's case.

"And you eavesdropped." It's not a question.

"I could tell that it was a lady's voice- I mean, you don't giggle. Wait- do you? Giggle. Giggle right now."

Arthur gives her a look that makes it clear that humour is not the thing he needs right now. He moves his hand to his forehead and sighs, and she flinches.

The muscle in his jaw jumps.

Ariadne holds her breath.

Arthur crumbles with as much grace as he can muster. "Okay," he sighs. "I'll tell you everything."

And then grins.

"Next session."

**A/N: Liked it? Hate it? Whatever, review!**

**-Cass**


	6. Chapter 6

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: **

**.plie.**

Arthur makes sure that mister call-me-Cobb is out of the warehouse before revealing their tangled history. Ariadne, in turn, he says, must make sure that her schedule is completly cleared. History doesn't exactly take five minutes to explain.

Ariadne doesn't do anything that morning, except wonder at her worn ballet shoes. She's not missing dancing in that moment. Contemplating it, sure- for it is an old friend, the one that reveals the passage out of the cages and into a new place. The best kind of friend. The unearthly kind of release.

Autumn winds practically shove Ariadne into the warehouse. Arthur is waiting for her, perched on the table where the PASIV sits, arms folded. "You're late," is said briefly. Ariadne sets down her bag and steps away from them, as if they'll chase after her. "I'm sorry," she snaps. "We're not all very punctual around here. How did you get Cobb out, anyway?"

"Told him that Mal was waiting for him in the apartment."

"And was that a lie?"

Arthur doesn't answer. "Thought you'd tell me everything," she mutters at him. "Some things are personal," he snaps.

She blushes, embaressed, but that hadn't even occured to her.

Arthur gestures for her to sit in the chair. She does so, taking the needle from him as fast as possible, still remembering being shot, and jabbing it into her own wrist.

Arthur hums something under his breath, and lies down after she's comfortable. Then he presses the button, and she's in a whole other world.

**.pique.**

She's in a bar- the loud, rowdy type, the kind where the men leer at the women who lead them in. IN any case, no one stays in this bar for more then fifteen minutes. Except for one person who seems to be waiting in the corner. He hasn't ordered a drink and looks unsettled.

Mr. Call-me-Cobb.

As Ariadne watches, a man comes into the bar and they begin to converse. Arthur. In the customary suit and hair slicked back. Why is Ariadne not surprised?

"That was two years ago. I was in the army then, and Cobb had begged me to have a meeting with him. Something about new technology. Supposedly it had been created in the military, but I had never heard of it. I was suspicious, naturally. Actually, in that moment, I was carrying two guns on me."

He glances at Ariadne. SHe's not looking at him, focusing on Cobb.

"And then?" she asks, realizing that he stopped speaking.

Arthur clears his throat and looks ahead. "He took me to his hotel room," he said quietly. "And he showed me."

The bar transforms into a hotel room, where Arthur is asleep in a chair and Cobb sits next to him, tapping his feet. Arthur's chest rises and falls steadily. Cobb glances at him every few seconds.

"It was astounding. I thought of all the good this could be used for. And then, of course, I thought of the bad."

Ariadne sucked in a breath.

"A year later Cobb met Eames. And we became Extractors. We stole secrets from people for money. And we were good at it."

_But everything must come to an end_, Ariadne muses. _What was your end?_

Arthur, as if reading her mind, tells her.

**.frappe.**

"Eames met a girl," he murmurs. "And told her everything. I don't know if was her fault or not, but something happened and we were attacked. Forced to leave Europe and regroup in America. But somewhere along the way Eames was attacked. We haven't heard from him." He catches sight of Ariadne's worried face. "I don't think he's _dead_," he clarifies. "He's too much of a bastard snake to do anyone the favor of dying. He's probably hiding out in western Europe or some of the other." Ariadne lets out a breath, reileved. "And is that it?" she asks.

"Yes," Arthur says.

She looks around.

"Can I dream now?" she asks, because as soon as she went under the** want **started to press at her, at her fingers, at her eyelids, tangled itself up in her heart, **there **when she opened her mouth to speak.

Arthur smiled and retreated. "Dream away."

And so of course she dreams about dancing.

**.jete.**

When she wakes up, Arthur is not there. Confused but not really surprised, she gathers her stuff and leaves. She glances around the warehouse once before going out into the street.

**.pas de chat.**

Arthur wakes a few moments before Ariadne does. She's twitching in her sleep already. He moves closer to her, checking how deeply she's asleep. Even in her sleep she flinches away from him.

He cleches his fist. He should expect that.

Then he leaves the warehouse.

**A/N: How was it guys? Review! Review! Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack: Tic Tic-dumbfoundead**

**.chasse.**

Remember Robert.

Nightmares- the sour kind of dreams, the bad escape, a trap in hiding, waiting for you to step forward and claim them, and then turn on you and rip your heart out, squeeze it in it's fingers, laugh at you while it's there. And you **cannot **escape nightmares. They stay with you. They are always there, curling in your chest, pressing icy fingers to your skin, and you cannot forget.

Ariadne has a nightmare.

It's unexpected, how she hasn't dreamed in so long. But this isn't dreaming, it's falling, claiming.

"Robert!" she calls, chasing after him. It's foggy in London, and she manuevers the streets like an expert, calling him. No one stops to stare: in fact, they act as if she isn't there. Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. Is that the nightmare? Maybe not.

"Robert!" she calls once more, and then Arthur is there, blocking her, stopping her from moving forward. She cannot reach Robert. She will never reach Robert. He will stop her.

Robert keeps running away. Ari doesn't know why she needs him- it's just urgent-

"Stop!" she screeches at Arthur. He ignores her, heeps holding her wrists until they bleed.

"Robert! ROBERT!"

And he's back, running past her again, but in the _other _direction. She wonders why, still trying to escape Arthur's cage, and then she's in a burning building. Smoke is stifling her, pressing on her. "Stop," she tries to yell, but at who? At what? She is lost in an endless maze of fear and forget.

But forget Robert? Never.

He lives in her dreams. The cause of her nightmares.

Ariadne screams herself awake in the dark of her room. There's nothing to answer her cry and maybe her plea for help but the rustle of the curtains and the fat, yellowish moon hanging like a lamp outside her window. She stares at it for a moment, then gets up and makes herself coffee in the kitchen. If that's what she has to fall asleep to, then she ddoesn't want to sleep. Maybe not even exsist.

She watches movies the rest of the night. Tries not to think about Arthur. Refuses to think about Robert.

**.saute.**

"Hmmmm." Sassy taps a pencil against her lips. She's in a graveyard, grass rustling and the wind blowing up the hem of her striped sun dress. She glances down at the grave again. "Blue flowers? Or white? You know what, Robert, I'll just put both down. Okay? Okay." She places the boquet of blue and white roses down and grins. It's not a real grin. It's twisted and mangled by pain- the remainder of a smile.

Not too far away, Ariadne lounges against a tree. She's had her time with Robert, and now she's vistiting a different grave. It's quite small actually, with the smallest headstone in the graveyard. Lilia's grave.

Ariadne doesn't say anything. Kneels, whispers a quick prayer, put down her own red roses.

Her time with Robert had been brief and short, heart aching with a pain that felt she couldn't possibly hold much longer. She had made her escape.

And here, with Lilia, the flowers and grass blowing and the scent of the little girl hovering around Ariadne. It felt like a dream.

"I remember you loved red roses. But the thorny ones especially. The ones from out backyard in Long Island." Ariadne swallows, chokes back tears, remembering the ramshackled house that they'd lived in for ten years. They'd moved out after Lilia died, moving directly into the city instead of on the outskirts.

"I went back, to cut you one. I got cut here, see?" Ari extends her thumb, which is sliced down the middle and bleeding. "So here are your flowers. They smell like you."

There's a whisper of wind, grasss twitching, blowing a scent her way. Her back stiffens automatically.

"Sasti?" she asks.

Silence.

She turns around, defensive, but there's nothing there.

Wait.

She squints her eyes. There's a retreating figure, far, so she can't quite determine who it is. She sits back and contemplates the roses. _And yet the scent had been familiar._ She sniffs the air again, smells her hair. The smell was still there, and still unidentified. Like- smoke- smoke and something else.

"Shit." She glances at the grave. "Sorry, Lilia. I bet you knew that word already. Dad didn't have a pause button, not bothering to stop his colorful language even in front of his kids.

She folds her hands in her lap and stares hard at the grave, contemplating once again. "I stopped dancing," she suddenly announces, propping her chin with her hands. "I found something else- something _better_." No, no- put that way, it sounded like she'd been searching this whole time, searching for something to pull her away. "No- not exactly better." Ariadne considers, shrugging her shoulders.

"Remember what Robert said about escape? I know you didn't like him. But still. He was right about escape. It's like addiction, and we're trapped under it, and only in escape we can really, y'know, _escape_. Sassy understands, I think. She used to be the girlfriend of a drug dealer. And he got her to try it...but they weren't _normal _drugs. I don't what they were. She said the feeling was unexplainable. Or something."

"Ariadne!"

Sassy stands from Robert's grave, dusting off her knees. "I'm ready to go."

"Bye, Lilia." She blows a kiss aimed at her plot, and runs off to join Sassy. Before she goes, she smells the air again. Familiar, but not settled. So familiar.

She rolls her shoulders, lithe and graceful like a true dancer and takes after Sassy.

**A/N: More to come, definitely! R&R~always!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confinement. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack**: Take Care- Drake feat. Rihanna

**.brise.**

She wakes up in a hotel room.

It's morning, or so she believes, the sunlight falling through lace curtains and pooling on a beige carpet. The room is carefully organized- the suitcases stuffed in the corner, the bottles of water sitting on the dresser, a red die lying nest to them. She sits up carefully, her back feeling sore. Everything looks so familiar, ready to seep into her mind, but she can't place it. She swings her feet out of bed, ready to pad over to the window.

Her cell phone rings.

She glances at the caller: Sastiana. She wonders if she should pick it up. Or if she should leave it. Then: a knock on the door.

She hopes over, checking to see if she still has clothes on, 'cause she doesn't know w_hat the_ _fuck _is going on, cell phone still gripped tightly in her hand. It's Arthur at the door. She doesn't know if she should be surprised or not. She settles for carefully blank.

"Am I dreaming?"

He nods- short, crisp.

She turns to look back in the hotel room. "But- I don't remember coming in. And-"

She glances back at the dresser. Squints at it. "Isn't that your die?"

Wordlessly he slips a hand into his pocket, pulling out a die identical to the one on the dresser. She stares at it, nibbling on her bottom lip. She doesn't know what's going on, and it feels like something is hovering in her mind, a date she's supposed to remember.

"What's today?"

He glances at his watch. "The eighteenth of June," he says carefully.

Dread, like ice, settles into her veins, flooding her body. "Wake me up," she instructs Arthur. "Right _**now**_."

He complies, entering the room and ruffling through a suitcase until he finds a gun, one of those small pistols. At least that's what Ariadne _thinks_ it is- she doesn't really know the types of different guns. He squeezes her hand once, softly instructing her to close her eyes. She sucks in a breath and follows the order. A rustle. A click. Nothing.

Then she awakens on the lawn chair, fingers gripping the rest. Next to her, Arthur's dark eyes flicker open, resting on her for just a moment. He mutters something under his breath that Ariadne _just _catches- something like "_**Mal**_". But. Doesn't that mean bad, or something, in French?

She hurriedly pays Arthur and rushes out, cursing herself repeatedly.

**.etcarte.**

_It had been cancer._

_It hadn't seemed right to her- a sickness that made Robert seem so frail, so weak. That wasn't right, because she knew that wasn't what Robert like. He was full of life. Bursting with it, always ready to share with Ariadne and with Lilia, those two half-dead girls struggling to free themselves from their cages. And Robert had opened that cage for them, allowing them to fly free. _

_It had been cancer that stole Robert away from them._

**.glissade.**

It was around this time of year that Sastiana started going to church. After Robert's and Lilia's death in the same week. Usually she didn't go for mass. She slipped in when it was dark and no one else was there, lighting a candle and praying for the both of those lost souls. She'd pray for Ariadne. She'd pray for her mother and father. She'd pray for herself.

She prayed that she'd never see **him **again.

Apparently the great being up there was having some great joke up there, toying with Sasti the way he was now. Not just once. But twice. And the second time around he was certainly being more persistent.

She gathers her bags and leaves the church. She can't stay in that place for more then a hour- the cold stone walls and arched ceiling made her feel like she was about to be buried. She couldn't stand it. **He **had gone to places like this all time, she seemed to remember. Not that **he **had believed in the divine, just simply like sitting and admiring the architecture.

**He'd **been strange like that, she seemed to remember.

She walked into the street, glancing both ways, then hurried back to her small flat. She was lonely, living by herself, and tried to coax Ariadne into living with her, but she had stoutly refused. The reason had never really been revealed, Sasti mused. And now they were hiding things from one another.

But she had other things to think about, other then Ariadne's attachment to her asshole mother and father. Like the fact that **he** was probably within a 12 mile distance of her, and being this close made her flesh crawl. She preferred **him** in some eastern Asian continent, or London. Somewhere far, _far _from here. Away from her only safe place. **He **had a terrifying habit of uprooting her safe places. She had cut herself off from him, and they'd fallen apart, forgotten about each other, too wrapped up in their own problems. Spent hours and years apart. Learned how to revolve around oneself, by themselves.

She really didn't want him back.

That was her excuse.

**.eleve.**

Of all the words to describe herself, she'd pick _**elusive**_. It suited her best, and she liked thinking about herself that way. That she was scary and evil, and that's why she picked that nickname for herself- _**Mal**_. It suited her. She loved it.

She lit the cigarette she'd stolen from Arthur's breast pocket and took a deep drag. He was sleeping, the little darling, convinced he'd done good. There was no way she'd tell him that Cobb usually did a better job- Arthur kept himself in check, controlling and neat even in sex. It made her want to laugh.

"_Ma cherie_." She tapped his shoulder. "_Je vais dehors pour prendre une fumée._ »

He nodded, opening his eyes, taking her in- the dishelved bath robe, the cigarette pushed between her lips.

"_Tres bien. Ne restez pas trop longtemps : il fait froid et vous avez seulement un peignoir de bain._ » He mumbled softly into the duvet cover. She nodded. She spoke English perfectly fine, although with a slight accent. She just loved hearing him speak in French: it made tingles run up and down her spine, goose bumps trailing over her flesh. Speak French: it was one thing Arthur could do that Cobb couldn't. How she loved her boys.

She pulled the robe tighter around herself with a smirk, and stepped out onto the balcony- all polished marble with a view of the Eiffel Tower and the university they'd met at. Arthur repeatedly brought them to this hotel when they dreamed, so that when they were done, they could take hand in hand and walk down the gorgeous streets of Paris. It was another thing she hated about him- how he spent his time drowning in forgotten memories.

The night air was cool and soothing on her skin. She reveled in it.

She took a final puff on the cigarette and looked around for an ashtray.

Arms encircled her from behind. Softly: "You smell like smoke."

She smiled, placing a kiss under his jaw. "Wonder why."

"I love you so much."

"_Ma cherie_." She kissed his cheek. "I have to go."

The dream slipped away from the both of them.

She'd never said "I love you" back to any of them- Arthur, Cobb, Eames. That would've made them special, and made things complicated. And she didn't. This **was** just for fun.

**.jete.**

Eames loved those sleazy bars seen in movies- with the hot waitresses and mysterious food, the amazing drinks. One such place: _The Cold Mermaid, _found behind an old abandoned apartment building. They didn't card anyone, and the music was the kind played on lonely Sunday mornings. Eames loved it.

That's where he is now; nursing some kind of dry drink that Barrythebartender (he had that name that sounded awkward if you just called him Barry, so everyone called him Barrythebartender) had given him, an olive dipping in and out of the clear liquid. He preferred good ol' straight beer to it, but maybe if the ladies saw him downing their kind of drink, they'd talk to him. Which was unlikely- they preferred Arthur's type to him. Even Mal preferred Arthur to Eames- everyone did. And yet Eames was the only one who knew Mal's dirty little secret, sharing herself among the boys. He'd kept her secret of course, but he cut himself out of the equation. He was okay with it.

He's in the middle of telling Barrythebartender a story about how he had to hide from Chinese police- wanted in over five different countries, now, and how America was one of the few places he could come back to.

"But why?" Barrythebartender asks, wiping down the counter with an oily rag. Eames stops, annoyed. "Why what?"

Barrythebartender adjusted his glasses. "Why here? You cut off your ties. There's nothing for you here. Right?" He continues to wipe the counter, the rag steadily becoming dirtier and dirtier.

"You're right. I guess I just wanted to look at them one last time, see if they were doing okay."

Barrythebartender tilts his head. "What happened to your girl? Sasti? Where'd she go?"

Eames dropped his eyes back to the glass he was holding. "She's still here somewhere."

Barrythebartender chuckles, a dry and raspy laugh. "Ah. I see. Lemme tell you something, sonny."

Eames bristles at being called "sonny", but he listens anyway.

"That kind of girl-the kind that makes you really happy- you chase her? Understand?" He gives the counter a furious wipe. "Even if you're the one that does the leaving, you chase her. I made that mistake, and I ain't gonna let you do it, either."

Eames nods, silently, then pays Barrythebartender and leaves.

**A/N: I haven't updated in five months. FIVE. I'm really, really, sorry, and I'm working on chapter nine right now. Hopefully it'll be updated today, too, or sometime this week, 'cuz I still have school. Translations:**

_Je vais dehors pour prendre une fumée- _I'm going outside for a smoke.

_Tres bein. Ne restez pas trop longtemps :il fait froid et vous avez seulement un peignoir de bain+ _Okay. Don't stay too long: it's cold and you only have a bath robe.

**Reveiws! I nee them to keep me alive….! **

**-Cass**


	9. Chapter 9

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confinement. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Soundtrack**: **Liz on Top of the World- Pride and Prejudice soundtrack**

**.cabriole.**

He spends all night looking for her. At one point he encounters Ariadne, her face gaunt and cheeks tearstained, but doesn't say hello- she might not even remember him, and they never really had any kind of relationship. It had been the easy, non-memorable kind, filled with jokes and laughter, but she pulled away after Robert and her sister died. Sassy, too, but just a little bit- **he** drove her away after he left. Completely his own standing.

Ariadne would know where Sassy was, but certainly wouldn't tell the man who broke his best friend's heart. He briefly wondered where Arthur and Cobb were. If Mal was still using them. The woman was evil down to her pinky toe, he knew. And that's just one of the many reasons why he'd flown the coop. It hadn't been a because matter- he'd have stayed for Sassy, but the circumstances-

-_they are never right for him_-

Sunrise finds him back at his own hotel room with a sudden craving for dreams. He wanders back to their old warehouse, without any real hope for finding Arthur and Cobb- yet he does. Arthur's on one of those lawn chairs, angled just so for Mr. Dickuphisassallthefuckingtime, and eyes fluttering while he dreams, while a girl lies on the one next to him, hand hanging off the chair and knuckles brushing the floor. He can see the shadows under her eyes from here- wonders what her cage was, and how she found Arthur. Cobb is nowhere to be seen. Probably fucking Mal in some discreet location. And that was the difference between Arthur and Cobb- Arthur would make love to her in his dreams, and Cobb preferred it in real life. Eames didn't mind either, really- just whatever was available, but Arthur held tight to his rigid rules and laws of why it'd be soooo immoral to make love to Mal in real life. Cobb would sit in silence. And Eames would answer neither, simply just enter another one of his dreams or escape to Sassy's favorite café, where he'd invariably find her. Because Sassy is-no, _was- _his escape.

He pulls up a lawn chair, ignoring the scraping sound it makes, and adjusts it next to the girl- nowhere near Arthur- in case by the time he wakes up he feels a mad, desperate need to bash Eames' head in- and settles into it. He pulls a needle from the PASIV and injects it with a hiss. It's been years and he's still not used to the sting of the needle hitting his skin.

He opens his eyes to foggy, intricate maze of apartment buildings and squat cafes, and almost immediately sees a park, just ahead, the only spot of color in a barren world.

Eames rushes towards it, moving out of the way of the people. He can hear someone talking, if he strains his ears:

"I don't think I can come anymore. I mean… I found a dance studio just outside the city, and I figured I could continue studying there. Instead of this. I mean… it's wrong." A girl's voice, lilting and unsure, as if confused on how to piece together her next sentence.

"…Really…?" He can imagine Arthur tilting his head, the light making his dark eyes shine just so. Like he knew better then you. And he knew it. Why is that?" he continued on. "What makes _dreaming_ _wrong_? What makes _this_ wrong? What's wrong with creating? With **imagining yourself a world**?"

"Well," and Eames detected a slight crack in her voice, "for starters, why are you operating out of a _warehouse_? Not in a regular place? And you stole the PASIV. No- not you-" Eames imagines he can actually hear her cast about for the lost name. He pushes the gate to the park open and sees them, standing under a tree. Close, but not too close. He fills in the lost name for her.

"Eames."

Her face alights and Arthur continues on determinedly- because now he's found someone to argue with, to **teach**, and he won't be pushed off the mark.

"Maybe we like the solitude." He smirks.

"And customers-" she starts, but notices him. Perhaps for the first time. Her face twists, like someone's shoved an extreme sour in her mouth. "Who are you? Are you supposed to be in here?"

She doesn't remember him. He finds the strength to lazily clap his hands together.

"_W-o-w_," he drawls the word, "coming here to argue on your different points of view- you've found yourself a keeper."

The girl steps away, tucking a hair behind her ear. He'll have to catch her later- another thing to steal from Arthur. And he knows Arthur could never leave Mal- couldn't, wouldn't. It wasn't in his power. He smirks.

"A subconscious projection," Arthur tells the girl. She nods, assured, but Eames catches the words Arthur forms silently: _ I think._ Oh, he must've surprised Arthur. That's never actually happened.

"I'm actually Eames," says he, miffed that they don't actually recognize him. The girl glances up at Arthur, startled.

"Solitude, my ass," she grumbles, suddenly. Remembering their previous conversation.

"How can I ever prove to you that I'm the one and only Eames you've been waiting for these past months?"

Arthur forces a dry chuckle. "No one's been waiting for you. And this is a dream. Anything can happen in dreams."

Eames concedes that point. "True. Well then. Shall we awaken?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Cut the bullcrap," he snorts, and pulls out a gun. Eames always wonders how he always has one on him, even in dreaming. "Ready?" he asks the girl. She holds out her hand, he squeezes it, once, and then levels the gun to her head and pulls the trigger. She falls to the ground, eyes wide open.

He shoots Eames next, who certainly needs no comfort of hand holding and hand squeezing. No, not for Eames. The last thought before he awakens:

_I'm definitely taking her from him. She's too perfect for him. _

**.adagio.**

She awakens with a hiss and sputter. The man- Eames?- is already on the lawn chair. As she watches, his eyes open and he looks around, muttering something under his breath- then catching sight of her and offering a slow, lazy smile. She doesn't return it. Because she knows him- a sick feeling settling in the gut of her stomach, _**can't explain it**_.

Arthur wakes, throws a glance around the room, finds Eames. Before Ariadne even can blink, there's a gun in his hand. Eames' smile doesn't waver. Nor does Arthur's hand.

"Wait-!" she finds herself saying. Screeching. "Arthur, don't shoot him…!"

"Even if I shot him, he wouldn't die," Arthur says calmly. "He wouldn't do anyone the favor of dying so fast."

His words remind her of another conversation, one that seems like ages ago but was in reality only a few days ago.

**.avant.**

"_Eames met a girl," he murmurs. "And told her everything. I don't know if was her fault or not, but something happened and we were attacked. Forced to leave Europe and regroup in America. But somewhere along the way Eames was attacked. We haven't heard from him._ _I don't think he's dead._ _He's too much of a bastard snake to do anyone the favor of dying."_

**.assemble.**

She wonders who the girl was.

**.echappe.**

Their need drives them together- a flurried tangle of arms and limbs and skin and need. Fast and furious. Aching, wanting. Then- nothing.

Ariadne awakens.

Choking, stumbling, rushing to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Was she-_could_ she- be dreaming about-?

Her mind rejects the idea before she even thinks it, but his image forms anyway in her mind's eye. The bespoke suit, the dark eyes, the knowing smile… She flutters her eyes shut, breathing heavily, until the image is erased away by her heavy breathing. It just seemed to have- _happened_, between a breath and a sigh and a flurry of fingers and the want of dreams.

She can't understand it.

"Umhgf," groans Sasti as she pads out of her bedroom, frowning at Ariadne.

"Ari," she sighs. "Is there a reason _why _you're running out of your bedroom at three in the morning?"

Ariadne glances down at her hands- which are trembling, shaking, their movements blurring together, shrouded in the dark shadows.

She opens her mouth.

"Bad dreams," she says.

Sasti nods, eyes fluttering shut, as she turns and walks back to her room. Ariadne hears the snores before the thump of Sassy's body falling into the bed.

The dreams don't leave her that night- instead they hover, insistent, and won't leave her alone. More want, more need, more push and pull-

**.echappe.**

She's not the only one with nightmares either. Sassy rolls and turns in her bed, awakening every few minutes and choking on salty tears that come unbidden. A fire roars in the pit of her stomach, along with the dark, dense feeling of dread.

_Something's going to happen_, she knows. _And soon._

**A/N: I know I promised to update on Friday…I don't even know if I have an excuse. I went to an amusement park yesterday, I'm sore all over and **_**exhausted**_**. It's a miracle I could even finish this. Ugh. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Movement**

**She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confinement. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this. Rather, it owns me. And my soul. Joking, joking. Maybe. Anyway, stop reminding me I don't own this. **

**Soundtrack**: **one thing- one direction**

**.eleve.**

Time definitely separates. If Ariadne hadn't known that before, she knows now. Time drives her away from everyone, drives her closer to ethereal beings beyond her reach. More than ever, she feels closer to Robert.

And then there's Arthur.

The dreams won't leave her. They stick to her skin like sweat, but it won't wash off. Every time she sees him, it gets worse.

So she tried to lie- lie through her teeth and ignore the pain that builds up inside of her and threatens to erupt with _every single word_- "I don't think I can come anymore. I mean…" A breath here to ensure her lungs are still working, that her heart is still intact, and she continues. Doggedly, otherwise she and Arthur are both lost. "…I found a dance studio just outside the city, and I figured I could continue studying there. Instead of this."

NO. Not instead of this. This…this is perfect. This is…

"Wrong." And there, the deed is done.

Bless Arthur. He doesn't let her slip away the way she wants to. Instead he grips her wrist and tilts his head, stares at her. Tries to figure her out because that's what he does- figuring people out, piecing out their dreams. He…_questions._

And doubts. "…Really…? Why is that? What makes dreaming wrong? What makes this wrong? What's wrong with creating? With imagining yourself a world?"

"Well." Her voice cracks, her defenses break. But this is attack, and she can't let him win. Because if he has his way, she'll have hers. And he doesn't want that. Or does she?

Time separates. Ariadne wishes she hadn't known.

**.couru.**

When she sees him, she shouts a curse over the packed subway that seems to travel for miles. It makes everyone turn to look at her, including _him._

And then he chases her.

Sasti used to be in track, before she dropped out of high school. Even so, it's pretty hard to run in peep-toe wedges. She almost feels like sobbing as she grinds her shoes against hard pavement. If he catches up to her, she will so make him pay for a new pair. Maybe with her fist.

"Sastiana-!" She hears, in an almost panicked voice. "Wait! It's me, Eames!"

"No shit, Sherlock," she hisses, and takes a left into an alleyway. Mud and dirt splash over her wedges. She stumbles, and someone catches her.

"Let me the fuck _go_," she snaps, eyes squeezed shut.

"If I do, will you run?"

Damn him. Damn him and that voice that sent tingles shivering down her spine and flashes of kisses and curled fists and strawberries and croissants. Of _him_.

"_Probably_." It is a choked whisper. She wonders if he can hear it.

"Ah." He rights her. "Never a liar. Can you open your eyes, please? It's me. I won't hurt you." His hand remains on her wrist. Tight, like handcuffs.

A deep, shuddering breath. "But you already did."

"You don't believe my promises, sweetheart. I'd promise, but the point would be moot. Just- just open your eyes, okay? Nothing to fear."

"Except for what comes out of my mouth." She mutters.

"Sorry, what?"

Her eyes fly open. "I need to go, Eames. I have-"

Eames covers her mouth with his hand, smothering the words back into her throat. "I'll buy you a drink. At eight?"

Before she could possibly answer, he is gone, like a whisper, like a ghost, like anything that's ever vanished out of her life that she couldn't possibly grab-

"Playboy." She grunts, and moans. She forgot to remind him about the new pair of wedges.

**.cabriole.**

Ariadne's mind is fixated on how she almost saw someone die yesterday. If she had let Arthur pull the trigger, would there be a dead man in the warehouse? Blood pooling around his head, eyes blank, unstaring. All the words he could've said gone, vanished somewhere with his soul. Simply gone.

Arthur is perfectly capable of killing. Ariadne knew that. So why is she so shaken?

She's never seen a man die before. She's never seen Arthur shoot anybody in real life, even though it can't be harder that in dreams. Aim, squeeze the trigger. Try to forget the number of people who mourn, drink yourself to pieces. Somehow, Ariadne knows she could never kill a person. She'd shoot herself first.

And Sasti. She's in the room over, preparing for a date with a person who's name she refuses to give. She looks beautiful- a red and white striped dress with pearls. And flats.

"I feel like your wedges would match more," Ariadne says. Satsi's face twists into a scowl. "Those are out of commission. I have to get a new pair."

Ariadne twists around in the couch, face scrunched confusion and disbelief. "You got them _last week_."

Sasti rolls her eyes, pinning up her hair in the mirror, holding pins with her teeth. "I know. I have to get a new _new_ pair."

"Where are you even going?" Ariadne says. Sasti turns to look at her, then back in the mirror.

"Hell if I know. I didn't know you read comic books, Ari. I found your superman comic books under the table. The batman ones were in the entertainment center." An eyebrow lifts. "I forgot where the spider-man ones where."

Ari blushes. "Sorry."

"Anyway," Sassy continues, "don't wait up. But if I'm not here tomorrow morning, call the cops."

"You're going on a date with someone you _don't_ know?"

Sassy grabs her jacket. "I never said I don't know him. More like…dislike him."

"Okay, so you're going on a date with someone you _dislike_. Would you like to enlighten me on _why_?"

"Ugh. Stop your voice from going so pitchy. It hurts my head. I'm off." The door slams behind her.

**.adagio.**

"Why are you even here, Eames. And stop giving me bullshit."

Sasti's definitely been to this bar before. She knows Barrythebartender well- and now a red fingernail traces the lip of her drink. Eames studies her.

"You look different. Did you curl your hair? Or cut it? It looks different."

"I cut it all off about a year ago. It's thinner now." She takes a sip of whatever's in her glass—vodka? Champagne? Wine?—and blinks at him. "Why. Are. You. Here."

He stares at her, then glances down at his drink. "Trouble. In China. You know, I can't even remember why I left here in the first place."

"I'd tell you if I knew. Jesus." She laughs, marveling at the brutality of the whole thing- the tears, the ice cream. She'll never admit it, but she gained about ten pounds after Eames left. Doctors never tell you that chocolate ice cream is just as addicting as speed or acid. Or even dreams. "But I finally came clean. No more drugs." A frown. "No more dreaming."

"I wish I could stay the same. I actually just met up with Arthur." His eyes take on that far away look Sastiana hates. "He's still dreaming. He has a new fool. Hot, too. What's her name." He looked away for a second, face scrunched. "I don't remember. Maybe she's Arthur's girl."

Sasti snorts. "Arthur? I thought he only ever took that stick out of his ass to fuck Mal."

Eames curls his fingers into a gun and points at her. "Exactly."

"Impossible."

Eames shrugs. "Things change."

The Cold Mermaid is emptying out, disappointed women paying for their drinks an looking after the dispersing men with sad eyes. Others stagger outside, supported by loud, boisterous friends. Sasti itches to go home.

"How's Robert?"

The name startles Sasti into looking at him. Her breathe catches.

"Dead."

**.MEMORY.**

_Running._

_Once there had been a lot of running, screaming, laughter. I was younger. Shorter, looking up at a sea of legs and briefcases and faces that blurred. I was always scared to go out into Manhattan at night, but Robert was always there. He was always taller than me. Huge. His shoulders and back blocked out half the sky, half the buildings. He protected me._

_Once, we were in his room. Making white little sharp things that lolled about when you threw them, and would fall back. Ariadne. She was there too, eyes flashing and arms waving as she talked about…something. Dancing. And Robert would watch her. So captivated. Everyone knew he liked her, then. Everyone except for me. Naïve, I was._

_I left for all of thirty seconds, gone to get orange juice from Robert's fridge. His cat had leaped from…somewhere. His name was Doctor Who, from some show Robert watched. Sometimes, as an excuse to spend time with him, we'd huddle around his computer and watch them travel through time and space. Doctor Who streaked across the table, a blur or orange and red, and startled me. I almost dropped the glass. When I arrived in the room, heart erratic, it almost stopped._

"_I think I like you." Robert. He was totally focused on his airplane, hands folding, sharpening, creasing. Ariadne looked up from her own tiny excuse for an airplane._

"_What?"_

"_IsaidIthinkIlikeyou." _

"_Oh." Their face turned red._

"_I like you too," she blurted._

_Then Robert kissed her on the cheek, and I almost killed Ariadne in Robert's room._

**.cabriole.**

A breath escapes Eames.

"I'm so sorry."

"Save it." She pantomimes checking her watch, as if she doesn't already know it's 4:14, and she wants to go home.

"I'm afraid I have to go."

He looks at her. Inches closer. She can smell his breath.

"Okay-just- before you go, sweetheart, promise me we'll see each other again."

"Don't worry." She scoops up her bag, wiggles her fingers at him. "I say my goodbyes."

**.eleve.**

Ariadne is almost halfway through the most recent episode of Supernatural when she gets the call. The line is crinkly and weird, and the voice seems calm and efficient. The voice is smooth, alluring. Ariadne listens for a few moments and mutters. "Okay. Yes. Yeah, I'm on my way now."

French, with an accent.

The voice sounds dead familiar, only Ariadne can't remember from where. She is out the door in a second.

**A/N: A new chapter! Eeeeee! Hugs and kisses to anyone who watches Supernatural or Doctor Who . Hugs and kisses and cookies and pictures of awesome cats. And smiley faces. Review!**


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